Without Sam
by Skye12
Summary: What if Sam lost hope in the dark of Cirith Ungol? Would things have ended differently if Sam was gone? WARNING: INCOMPLETE FOR NOW WILL BE COMPLETE JUST NOT IN THE NEAR FUTURE SORRY FOR THE DELAY
1. A Sorrowful Departure

It was after reading the fanfic "The Samwise Within" by Mainecoone aka Halfwest one day that I realized Sam's thoughts of suicide after Frodo's encounter with Shelob and wondered what if he really did it. Yes this will be dark, brooding, morbid, gloomy, somber, solemn, melancholy, shadowy, and enigmatic. Not to mention scary and horribly horribly sad. Samlovers out there I am one too please don't kill me for this one. PLEASE I NEED FEEDBACK!  
  
~  
  
Sam lowered his sword and breathed heavily. But he had no time to relish his victory over Shelob or seek the creature Gollum, as quickly as sensible thoughts made their way through the dissipating, blind rage that had taken his mind and body, revenge seemed useless. He sprang forward, crawling desperately, to his master's side. All was still and silent.  
  
"Master, dear master!" Sam cried as he reached Frodo's side. His desperate voice answered only by the heavy silence and menacing darkness.  
  
It was so dark that Sam could almost touch it, taste it, weigh its heavy burden on his shoulders. He was crawling in a void of black nothingness that pressed menacingly at the corners of his mind. He could barely make out his master's still figure just before him. As the darkness pressed Sam drew out the phial of Galadriel like a sword to protect him from the living shadow. A gleaming light burst forth and vanquished the darkness around him.  
  
There before him lay his master, wrapped tightly in pale cords like a small child tucked in for a night's sleep. Frodo seemed at peace, his tranquil face resting in its light of elvish beauty. He was deathly pale, the light of the starglass giving his features a moonlit glow.  
  
"Master, dear master!" Sam cried again. Frodo did not speak, he heard no voice and lay still as death. Sam held his breath. "Frodo! Mr. Frodo!"  
  
It was the stone silence that answered that scared Sam the most. He drew out Sting and cut the bonds that held his master. Sam's mind raced, his heart let out a soulful cry. He bent, not wanting to touch his dear master for fear it would bring home to him the cold, harsh reality his mind did not want to believe. He bent, slowly, and laid his head on Frodo's breast. His mind desperately hoping for that low hum of life. A light flutter or slow thud, calming and reassuring him that life still stirred inside his master's body, there was none. Still as stone, breath and bone.  
  
Sam moved his ears to Frodo's mouth, praying to hear a light rasp of cold, rattled breath, shaken as it has been of late, as if a heavy burden pressed on his lungs. Not even that heartbreaking, pathetic, gasp of life that clung Frodo to this world would stir. Silent stillness in the dark of night.  
  
Sam rose, his wide, fearful eyes meeting Frodo's still and placid face once more. It seemed a pale green in the light of the starglass. Sam put his trembling hands to Frodo's forehead, then touched his fingertips to Frodo's wrist, no warmth or gentle throbbing could be found. All was still and cold.  
  
"Mr. Frodo! Frodo!"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Oh please wake up! Don't go where I can't follow!"  
  
Stillness and cold.  
  
"Please wake up! Don't you hear me! It's your Sam calling you! Please wake up!"  
  
His echoing voice rang it's sorrow and despair in the emptiness of Shelob's lair. It was then that the blind fury and rage that had set upon Sam in his moment against Shelob returned with all its potency. He gripped Sting and cursed loudly, his voice echoing in agony. He stabbed the air and stones around him, he cried out, his heart screaming in anguish.  
  
Darkness slowly crept back into Sam's mind and he dropped Sting immediately, running to Frodo's side again. Frodo lay as he was left, cold and still, like a figure of elvish beauty frozen under an icy pond. Sam brushed a dark curl from Frodo's face but nothing stirred. This was the final stab into Sam. He knew. The image that was given to him in Galadriel's mirror from what seemed an age ago, returned to him. Frodo laying still, under a dark cliff, in a serene sleep. A sleep from which there is no waking.  
  
"He's dead." Sam's words whispered in a hollow coldness. "Not asleep. Dead." The words had a finality to them that sent a cold shiver down Sam's spine and stung him, the pain never subsiding.  
  
It was those words that brought a dark night into his heart that the phial of Galadriel could not slay. He hung his head low, and drew his grey hood over his face in mourning. Darkness crept and killed everything that had ever lived in Sam; hope, light, friendship, faithfulness. But with it died fear. He was no longer afraid of the darkness that was slowly consuming him and whether he sat there in deep despair for minutes, hours, eternities, it did not matter. He lifted his head, tears glittering down his face like hundreds of tiny, dying stars as they landed in his hands and faded into the gloom. What could he do? He could not turn back. He could not go on. No, such a journey would be a forever stumble into dark despair and loneliness only destined to fail in the end. He knew this. He was not chosen, the Ring was given to Frodo, surely he would fail. He'd die long before he even reached the slopes of Mount Doom, if he wasn't dying already. Inside was dead and dark and the phial of Galadriel was just an intruding light in his forever night. No more comfort, hope, faith. It was all for naught. The quest was destined for doom the second they stepped out of Rivendell, perhaps even the Shire.  
  
He could seek vengeance. Once the dark blood of Gollum is spilled over this bleak landscape it will give him this bittersweet sense of closure with which he could die. And die he would, that he knew. That was what he was meant to do. Die in this forsaken land of darkness and shadow. But with perhaps his secure sense of closure watching the blood of Gollum soak the scorched, dry ground. No, that would be no good. It was not worth leaving his master's side for. It could not bring his master back. But nothing will. They had better both be dead together. The thought echoed in Sam's mind.  
  
"We had better both be dead together. Though that too, a lonely journey. It would bring an end to this suffering." Sam's eyes searched the darkness for an answer. None came. His heart was silenced with overwhelming grief that threatened to kill him slowly and painfully. He might as well just end it there.  
  
His eyes fell on Sting, the smooth metal a soothing burn to vanquish the freezing coldness inside of him. Empty no more. What lies behind the tip of the sword where all brave and valiant knights may travel? Sam, in his own eyes, was neither brave nor valiant, but there in lies the end of his journey. The journey to the tip of the sword, to feel it's metal fill you, and an empty fall off a black brink into nothingness, and lie beside his master- forever more.  
  
He lifted Sting, watching it shine and flicker it's blue icy light. He looked at everything as if he was seeing it for the first time, but truly his last. The starglass, so bright and full, as contrast to him, dark and empty. The dark cliffs, so malevolent and brooding, watching him. He held out his arms so that Sting would slide straight through his hollow, aching chest when he thrust his arms back in. He sighed, his breath ragged. His gaze at last fell on his master's fair face, still and serene in it's tranquil pose of elven light. Just asleep, a peaceful sleep, from which there was no waking. Sam breathed again, Sting almost touching his chest, pricking at his skin. A moments pain and then no more, this cold anguish in his torn heart would soon be gone. A moments hesitation, did Frodo stir? Sam's heart stopped as he watched his master intently. He did not blink, waiting in cold torment for some sign of life. He received none, not a stir, flutter of heart, slow breath, stillness. Sam cursed his eyes for showing him something he only wished was true but was not, a cruel trick of his mind. No more tricks. It would be done with soon.  
  
"Farewell, master, perhaps we will meet shortly. I am sorry I have failed you."  
  
Sam fell forward into Sting's grasp. Darkness filled his world, the pain subsided into a warm numbness and then- nothing. The night that lay perpetually in his heart lifted with a veil of mist as bright white light penetrated his clouded vision, and- no more.  
  
  
  
~  
  
~I hated doing that! I don't know how such a dark thought came into my mind but I wish it had never been! As I was nearing Sam's death I almost gave up on this, I love Sam, I never thought I'd kill him. What drove me to this!?!? Please don't hurt me I love Sam just as the rest of you but the second I set this task out for me I knew there was no turning back. Now I know you're all saying "And Frodo!?!? He's gonna wake up and then what!?!?!" I have my plans for the rest of this don't worry just a warning now it will be dark and not happy. Who know's I may destroy Middle- Earth!!!!! Who knows what I'm capable of. If you are looking for a happy fluffy ending TURN BACK NOW! I will update according to my reactions. PLEASE DON'T HURT ME!! ::cowers:: I never meant to hurt anyone. I just started it and it got way out of control!! ::hides::~ FEEDBACK PLEASE! ~ 


	2. The Downfall

A form was slinking along in the darkness nursing his arm and cursing under his breath. He stopped, hissed, and spat, then continued on his crooked path. He walked so nimbly in the darkness, his pale eyes searching along the walls, the exit was nearing. The darkling light that shadowed over these bleak lands was visible through a small crevice in the darkness, a thin rip in black clothe.  
  
"Achss! Nassty, cruel, hobbitses! Hitss us with mean nassty stick, he does."  
  
Gollum fingered his arm and touched the sensitive bruise, this only brought on another string of inaudible curses. He peeked out the crevice, his head lolling about his scrawny neck as he took in his surroundings. There was something out in the distance, his keen eyes could only detect two dark forms splayed across the landscape. He began to slink along the wall and slithered into the shadows, his pale eyes shining, dim and dark. He was silent and stealthy, blending in with the shadows as he advanced upon the figures.  
  
"Achss! Yess, my preciouss, Gollum! She gots him, filthy little hobbitses, cruel, wicked Bagginses, she gots him she did!"  
  
As he was about to pounce down on Frodo's silent, sleeping body, he saw Sam lying by his side. Gollum hissed again and shrank back into the shadows. He watched them, eyes intent.  
  
"Wicked, nassty, Sam-hobbit. He stayed with masster, he did. Nassty hits us with cruel stick." Gollum ran his fingers along his arm and winced again. He waited silently, watching, wondering.  
  
It was then that he noticed something wrong. There was something amiss with the two sleeping forms. He looked at Sam more intently, slithering out of the protection of the shadows. He saw no danger. Sam's sleeping body was not moving, completely still in an odd and seemingly uncomfortable position. He was curled, his back to Frodo, and his knees drawn forward as if he had collapsed or fallen that way, and his arms curved, gripping something at his chest. From the back he seemed to be curled up in a deep sleep, wrapped in silent and calm dreams.  
  
Gollum advanced silently, Sam's body completely still. Even as Gollum pressed on his arm and let out a hiss of pain, Sam did not stir, neither hobbit stirred. Gollum paused a moment, then quickly leapt infront of the sleeping hobbit. Gollum jumped back, too startled to even hiss in triumph. What he saw was not quite what he had expected.  
  
Sam lay, his hands fallen limp from Sting's hilt, the blade driven into his chest. His face looked calm, no look of horror before death, no fear, and seemingly no pain. His eyes were open and calm, like still pools of faded light. His skin was as pale as moonlight, his life's blood pooled about him and growing cold for how long he had been lying there in his endless sleep. The only thing off were the dark circles that framed his eyes, other than those fingerprints of death that Gollum had come well accustomed to, Sam would have looked simply in an open eyed sleep, like an elf. Gollum hissed and backed away at the thought of elves.  
  
A faded memory rushed through Gollum's mind. A scene from what Gollum had once been played through his memory and fooled the vision before him, blending reality with what once was and Gollum began to tremble. The dark light faded from his eyes, now they were pleading, pitiful, and strangely frightened. Gollum's body began to tremble at what he saw before him. A small hobbit lying still and limp at the riverbed. He reached out a trembling hand towards Sam then drew it back quickly.  
  
"Deagol," he whispered as he examined Sam's still body closely.  
  
Sam's hopeless, fading gaze looked through Gollum endlessly. It was the starglass that brought Gollum back with a hiss as he saw it by Frodo's side.  
  
"Elveses light!" he shielded his eyes and the vision faded into nothing.  
  
Darkness soon crept into Gollum's mind as he saw Frodo lying in the glow of the starglass. Gollum advanced upon his sleeping master and looked down at him. He was not dead. Shelob's poison still in effect though his complexion lost most of its green hue. His face was expressionless, still and pale in the light. His brow slightly creased with tormenting dreams, his lips partly agape almost as if he were calling out, they moved wordlessly and it was barely noticable that he moved at all. His lips formed one, voiceless word and he was still once more. "Samwise." Without that slight movement he could have easily been mistaken for dead, his skin was pale and cold to the touch, not a breath or heartbeat noticeable by any close touch, and two dark circles around his eyes, not as dark as Sam's but there nonetheless. Gollum recognized the effects of Shelob's poison well enough, he would lay there for a good long time trapped in dark and violent dreams.  
  
It was then that Gollum heard orcs in the distance and he hissed about to dive back into the shadows when he remembered, precious. He could see the orcs now, coming along the path, talking in their foul tongue, hunting something. They were searching for the spies, Frodo's and Sam's prescence were known, but their knowledge of the ring was probably little or nothing at all. Under the command to find spies from the west they hunted without question. Gollum knew orcs well enough to assume this.  
  
His long, boney hands groped around Frodo's neck anxiously. His movements became more violent and frantic as he fumbled along the chain, almost choking Frodo. When the cool metal of the ring sifted into his hands, Gollum hissed loudly with joy. The orcs jumped and brandished their weapons. One pointed towards Gollum and they began to run with horrible spead. Gollum took no heed of them. He unclasped the silver chain and left it limp and wrapped around Frodo's neck like a noose. Gollum could not care.  
  
"Preciousss! Preciousss! Preciousss!" He hissed joyfully holding up the ring. "It's ourses! Back with us again, Preciouss!" His eyes gleamed in their dark light and without hesitation the ring was around Gollum's finger.  
  
The orcs stopped mid-stride before the still bodies of Frodo and Sam, the creature they pursued had vanished. They cursed loudly, taking no heed to the bodies before them. One snuck over to where Frodo lay and looked about, he cursed and spat on his companion who returned the foul obsinity.  
  
"It's your fault you slow hobbler! Can't keep up with me! My kind was not meant to hunt with your lowly, worthless race!"  
  
The other, obviously smaller, orc brandished his spear. "I got a good mind to-"  
  
"You don't got a good mind you-" The tall orc was prevented from finishing his insult. Invisible hands groped at his neck, there was a loud hissing in his ear and air was prevented from reaching his lungs. He struggled, trying desperately to shake a heavy weight that had wrapped itself around his neck and heaved on his back. He choked and gagged, the other orc watched in frightened amusement.  
  
Before the small orc could make to run, even before the first one's body hit the ground with a terrible thud only a few feet away from Frodo, tight hands wrapped around the small orc's neck. He ran about wildly before something else wrapped around his leg and he pitched forward and struggled about on the ground. Gollum hissed, pleased with his work.  
  
"Preciouss! Preciouss! We shall never take preciouss off our fingerss, no we won't. Won't lose preciouss again!" Gollum hissed triumphantly and sprang away. The ring stayed neatly on his finger now, it was going where it willed, Gollum was now its puppet. He was heading straight towards the tower as the eye atop looked on in triumph. A darkness spread over the world, a storm stretching its long arm toward the west and on. Middle- Earth's end was near as the first form of the shadow made its way to Gondor. 


	3. Flight to Baraddur

Pippin sat deep in his despair as he watched the sky grow menacingly dark. The sun was blotted out by the billowing fumes of smoke and turned blood red foreboding the doom that was now evident. The streets of Gondor were bare and solemn in the darkness, women and children sat in their homes watching the sky from their windows. All in the kingdom accepted their fate with solemn sincerity and Pippin was left on the streets waiting for his own death and thinking about Merry. He knew that somewhere out there Merry was all alone looking onto the same doom and thinking of him. Pippin wiped away his tears and put his head in his hands, waiting.  
  
The darkness took no time to spread and manifest its doom into the hearts of men. The men stayed with their children and wives, waiting for the doom that pressed upon Gondor. Pippin's thoughts strayed to Sam and Frodo, perhaps long dead, he cried again. If only one could be saved, only one, it should be Frodo. Frodo was the one who bravely tossed aside his life and walked into the inpending doom, he knew his death from the beginning and yet still he bore that terrible burden. Frodo deserved something in payment for his sacrifice even though the quest had failed. He saw the frightened faces in the windows of the small homes and felt some amount of guilt rise up, hot in his breast, they ALL should be saved! But this he could not have. If there was some way- some way for his cousin to rise up out of Mordor alive and find some place of peace in return for his suffering it would be enough for Pippin. No matter how much he wanted Gondor saved, or Merry beside him, or his home safe in the Shire, this was his wish, and he thought if he wished it hard enough it had to happen. He cursed himself for being so foolish, but he still could not shake the thought of his older cousin walking into doom, that wise knowing in his eyes, KNOWING his own death and still going to save the Shire and his friends.  
  
Pippin wept, alone in the streets, alone in the darkness, and once more thought of Merry. His thoughts were interrupted, however, by a kind voice beside him. He looked up and Gandalf stood, silent and solemn.  
  
"Are they dead, Gandalf?" Pippin's voice was wracked with sobs.  
  
Gandalf narrowed his eyes, looking out towards Mordor. "The Ringbearer lives," he said, his only answer.  
  
Pippin shiverred. Poor Frodo he was lost and alone in Mordor amongst all that destruction. What was he going through? What horrible terrors did he see? "You have to help him, Gandalf!"  
  
Gandalf looked down at young Pippin and smiled wryly. "Where would he go, even if I got him out of Mordor."  
  
"There must be some place of safety! Somewhere for him to go and be happy!" Pippin cried.  
  
Gandalf nodded, "There is."  
  
"Please, Gandalf, take him away. He doesn't deserve this, him of all people," Pippin pleaded.  
  
Gandalf eyed the young hobbit under his bushy brows. "That was the noblest and wisest thing you have ever said, Peregrin Took. This world is dying, you know, and that is your one wish."  
  
"I have many wishes. I wish Merry were with me. I wish Frodo and Sam were safe. I wish we were all safe in the Shire. I wish Gondor wouldn't fall. But if Frodo can be saved, then I can- I can die- and Frodo-" Pippin was stopped by endless sobs again and the wizard bent to comfort him.  
  
"Hobbits really are amazing creatures."  
  
"How, Gandalf? How can he find safety?" Pippin asked when he regained some sort of composure. "Where can he go?"  
  
"With the elves, Peregrin. It was after Frodo volunteered to take the ring that Lord Elrond, the Lady Arwen, and I decided that whether the quest succeeded or failed, if Frodo lived, he would gain passage to the lands of Valinor. Arwen has given up her own passage to him."  
  
Pippin's eyes went wide. She would rather die with her love then seek safety without him. And he says hobbits are amazing creatures! Pippin jumped to his feet, "Find him! Find him, Gandalf! Take him to Valinor!"  
  
Gandalf sighed, "Soon. The Lord of the Eagles is willing to bear me to Mordor. He will be arriving soon." Gandalf turned to walk away.  
  
Pippin wondered how Frodo could live, knowing the destruction he left behind. Would it not be better for him to die? To remember all he'd left behind, that would be torment. "Wait, Gandalf!" But then he stopped and thought all the more.  
  
Gandalf turned to face Pippin. He watched the small hobbit rage the debate in his mind before finally speaking. "Peregrin. He'll forget."  
  
Pippin was torn from his thoughts. He wondered if Gandalf had read his mind or simply the expressions on his face. "Forget?" was all he could come to say.  
  
"The Valar will give him peace. He will no longer hold to the life he lived here."  
  
"Peace?" That was what Pippin wanted for his cousin. Peace. It was what he deserved for bearing such a burden. Pippin cast down his eyes. He'd forget them. Forget them all. But he would find peace.  
  
Pippin was once again started out of his transe by Gandalf's comforting hand on his shoulder. "I believe it would be best. But it is not your decision. So do not trouble yourself."  
  
"But I don't want him to forget me."  
  
"Would you rather him die?"  
  
Pippin shook his head furiously.  
  
"I should be going now."  
  
Pippin nodded and wiped his tear drenched face once more. He watched the wizard fade into the distance and was gone. Pippin was alone again. His thoughts strayed back to Merry and he thought he heard Merry's thoughts answering him.  
  
"I wish you were here, Merry. I'm frightened."  
  
After a long pause there came an answer in Pippin's mind, faint like the small whispers of the wind.  
  
"Don't be frightened, Pip, it will be over soon."  
  
"Merry?"  
  
"We both face battle now, Pip, we will depart together."  
  
Pippin set his hand on his sword as he saw the armies of Mordor advancing in the distance.  
  
"I will leave this world fighting," he thought. "Frodo will be safe. And I will see Merry soon." These were his comforting thoughts, as Merry's voice faded from him. The world had seemed to fade as Pippin prepared himself for battle. One lone, little hobbit against the forces of Mordor. He could feel his death breathe down his neck and he tried desperately to overcome his fright. He could see the orcs clearly now, barely just infront of him, they brandished their spears. Just as the armies were upon him he saw a figure rise up and fly towards Mordor with terrible speed. Gandalf had begun his flight to Barad-dur.  
  
"Find him, Gandalf. Find him and bring hi-" Pippin's thoughts were cut short by a burning pain in him and then blackness. Darkness filled his world, the pain subsided into a warm numbness and then- nothing. The night that lay perpetually in his heart lifted with a veil of mist as bright white light penetrated his clouded vision, and- no more.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
~  
  
  
  
  
  
Ack!!!! Now I've killed Pippin and Merry! I'm unstoppable! Someone take this keyboard away from me who knows what other damage I may do! I cannot be held responsible for my actions! I feel like a helpless bystander watching someone else weave a tale of such destructive grieving I cannot bear it! ::cries:: I'm sorry Sam! I'm sorry Pippin! I'm sorry Merry! But Frodo will be ok, right? ::looks down at hands:: I've lost all control over them. What more damage will I do! ::weeps:: 


	4. Cousins' Bond

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! So many lovely reviews! You really make me wanna write and write I love you people! Well if you think I'm full of surprises now just wait till I get started. And Trilliah yes I guess it is kinda funny my reaction to my own writing and stuff but that is how I feel. It just appears before me and I had no say in it. Then I look back read it and wonder if *I* am the one who really wrote it and *Why?* It is very hard to describe how I get when I write, it's like I fall away and the world fades around me and I am immersed in some wordless uncomprehendable existance that's just full of some raw emotion from a completely unknown sorce. When I awake I wrote something and well that is what it was. So you could imagine my shock when I awoke from my daze to find I HAD KILLED SAM! Then I decide to continue it and *BOOM* I KILLED PIPPIN! AND MERRY! I think I've lost all control over this now. It's like a flood and it's overwhelming me. Sometimes when I start a story I am able to take hold of it and gain control. This is not one of those times. So exactly what is coming next not even I know...  
  
~~~  
  
Merry felt cold, as if everything inside of him was dying and a winter was overcoming his soul. He knew exactly how to describe it, Pippin was his spring and now without Pippin all that was left was the frosty, dead snow that overwhelmed him. How he wished his dear, young cousin was there with him, he could not fathom what terrible thoughts went through his cousin's frightened mind as he awaited his death. Merry shiverred and drew his arms tight around himself, he needed the warm smile and light laugh of his naive cousin to brighten this endless winter.  
  
"Is this how I must die, so cold and alone?" he whispered to himself. The words seemed not his own as they drifted in his mind like a cold winter's wind.  
  
He looked up at the darkening sky, the sun the color of blood, the sky filled with smoke as Mordor expanded it's hold over the lands. It happened so fast, so fast, but he knew the moment the quest had failed, and with that came his endless winter. He could see the armies in the far distance swallowing all of Middle-Earth in their blackness and slaying the land as they passed. It would only be a matter of time before they were upon him.  
  
The men in the camp prepared for the battle they knew too well was their last. Merry's thoughts strayed from Pippin to his other dear cousin. He wondered if Frodo lived, what torment he was suffering. Merry shiverred and felt a tight pang in his heart. It was all for naught. How he wished to be back at BrandyHall with all of his cousins on a warm spring day, with Pip. He felt a shadow of a smile pass across his solemn, ashen face, remembering those warm spring days when Pippin would appear from behind a tree harboring the ripe berries he was able to snatch. Always enough for two. Merry would laugh and tossle Pippin's curls. It was all too long ago now. And he feared he would never see that bright face of pure innocence again, beable to tossle those soft curls.  
  
He fought the overwhelming despair that threatened to swallow his heart. But how could he? Pippin was out there, somewhere, in a place where the death and destruction would begin. He was in the very place Mordor would attack the hardest, how could he fight this despair if he wasn't there to look after his cousin? Merry fought back the sobs that began to make him tremble as he crammed them back inside of him. Tears blurred his vision.  
  
And the Shire? It would die along with the rest of Middle-Earth. His family, his people, the very people he was there to protect. But was that what he had in mind when he set out? No, all he could think of was what fun an adventure would be and how much he needed to stick by Frodo. And he had failed at that as well. He didn't stick by Frodo, he let him go, go to Mordor to die. But Sam was with him, at least he had someone. And yet Merry knew that both of them together was not enough, they were out there, somewhere, beyond his aid, beyond his hope, beyond his very prayers. Another bout of sobs and tears threatened to engulf him.  
  
He felt a hand fall on his shoulder. "Strider?" he managed to choke through the tears.  
  
The man nodded solemnly, his face stone set and grim. Strider knew, they all knew what was to come. And yet Strider tried to comfort him. Merry felt his anguish flow in a storm of anger.  
  
"Why do you try to comfort me so? I shouldn't be here! Pippin shouldn't have gone to Gondor! Frodo and Sam shouldn't have gone to Mordor! Why us? We should be in the Shire, safe, safe from all of this!"  
  
"You know as well as I that nowhere is safe now," he answered calmly.  
  
Merry boiled with rage, "You made him leave! And you made me stay! Now we will all die alone!"  
  
"I cannot bring your cousins or anyone back to you. How I wish you all did not partake of this journey, it went against my council. But we can do nothing of it now but ready ourselves for battle."  
  
"Why? If we are going to die? If Middle-Earth is lost forever? Why do we fight any longer?"  
  
Aragorn did not answer this. He looked out at the black forces slowly consuming the lands. Merry sniffed the tears flowing down his cheeks now and his body wracked with sobs.  
  
"Did he betray us, Aragorn?" Merry asked in a meek voice that sounded like a frightened Pippin. He wiped his tears angrily at the thought of his young cousin frightened.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Frodo. Did he take the ring to Sauron?"  
  
"I don't believe it so. Frodo had a true heart, and Sam one even more so, together the ring was safe in their keeping, as long as they both drew breath it was safe."  
  
The man said this with such sincerity Merry believed it so. But this raised a new question. "What happened?"  
  
"I wish I knew."  
  
"Something has happened to them. They were captured. Sauron has them. Oh, what will he do to them!"  
  
Aragorn sighed and Merry thought he detected a tear roll down the ranger's face. Merry felt his own tears hot on his cheeks. They stood in that sombre silence. Merry turned back towards the forces he saw scurrying across the lands growing ever closer. He drew in a deep and ragged breath. Aragorn turned and dissappeared amongst the chaos at the camps.  
  
Merry could see the dark, winged creatures soaring across the sky, screaming with that terrible voice that froze him. He closed his eyes forcing back tears, he could hear a terrible cry that sent chills through him, freezing his blood, freezing his bones. In the distance flew terrible beasts with black riders on the mount. He froze, his hand hoverred above his sword as he still clung to thoughts of Frodo, Sam, Pippin. He could remember waking that morning to the cries of men about the campsite, "The Ring has been taken to Sauron! Darkness if falling upon Middle-Earth! We've met our end!" All he could think to do was cover his eyes with his covers and think of Pippin. He didn't cry or panick or even move. After all it could have all been a dream, some terrible nightmare, and he would wake in Brandy Hall, warm and snug in his bed surrounded by the serene, sleeping faces of all his young cousins.  
  
As he saw those dark figures advancing in the distance he closed his eyes tight and moved his mouth wordlessly, "It can still be a dream. All a dream. Some terrible dream. Oh wake me Pippin, wake me from this terrible dream!"  
  
There was a long moment of silence as a dark night fell on Merry's heart. The terrible cries advanced and a shadow played across the sky as if some monstrous bird blocked the sun with its black plumes. It was then that Merry thought he heard a cry, some small voice carried on the wind like a brittle leaf. At first it was nothing, just a bable of words sighing softly like some frightened child whimpering in the dark of night, calling for his parents to comfort him from a bad dream. Merry closed his eyes, tears cold on his cheeks as his ears strained passed the horrible sound of the Ringwraiths. A voice formed out of the small whimpers in the wind.  
  
"I wish you were here, Merry. I'm frightened."  
  
Merry caught his heart in his throat. He screwed his eyes shut so he may picture his young cousin there with him instead of the terrible picture of black riders on their winged beasts. In the midst of cries of battle and a voice that sounded like a woman's challenging the wraith before them, Merry focussed on Pippin's voice. He bit his lip fighting back tears. He could picture his small cousin, one small hobbit lost among battle in Gondor. His mind raced for words that would comfort his cousin.  
  
"Don't be frightened, Pip, it will be over soon."  
  
"Merry?"  
  
Merry did not know whether to laugh or cry at that. Yes, somehow through the tumult of battle, in the face of death, miles and miles away they could still comfort eachother. He could hear the cries of triumph as the wraith before him slew one of the men, but instead he also heard the small cry of a maiden. Someone near him. He had obviously been overlooked by the wraith. He kept his eyes shut a little longer, not wanting to lose the picture of his innocent cousin. He thought hard for some words of comfort, but what came was a bitter-sweet remark.  
  
"We both face battle now, Pip, we will depart together."  
  
With the silence came the cold cry of the wraith once more as an icy wind swept through Merry. He opened his eyes to see the creature towering over him, a fair maiden lay at his side. It was the Lady Eowyn. Merry quickly drew his sword in the mix of rage, anguish, love for Rohan, and love for his cousin, he thrust his sword into the tall wraith. It's screech a terrible shattering in his ears. Merry stumbled back as icy poison felt like it was shot through his arm with one piecing blow. He cradled his arm, his eyes filling with fear as he saw the wraith draw his own blade. Merry closed his eyes tight, waiting his death. The coldness spread through him, taking an iron grip on his body as he felt his mind slipping into a darkness of shadowy dreams. The world reeled about him as ice shot through his dark and cold body. He felt the ground hit him hard and darkness take over. Darkness filled his world, the pain subsided into a warm numbness and then- nothing. The night that lay perpetually in his heart lifted with a veil of mist as bright white light penetrated his clouded vision, and- no more.  
  
~  
  
Alright the initial shock that I've killed Merry has worn off. And still I cry for hours on end when I look back and see what destruction I've caused. ::looks down at hands:: why are you doing this?!?! Why?! ::hands look back up at me with false innocence:: Don't give me that look! I invented that look! What have you done? You wretched hands! Look what you've typed! Bad hands! Bad!  
  
In response to one of my reviewers... Aquachica... Me? Kill Frodo? That's preposterous! (reminisces:: few weeks ago... Me Kill Sam? Preposterous! few days ago... Me Kill Pippin? Preposterous! couple days ago... Me Kill Merry? Preposterous!) ::laughs meekly:: I'd never...::looks down at hands:: ::laughter dies down:: You wouldn't! Would you? ::hands look back up innocently then hold to keyboard protectively:: O_O Oh no... They wouldn't.... They can't.... Oh no they're typing the next chapter.................................. and I've lost all control O_o................... 


	5. One Final Plea

Otay! Now back to what you have all been waiting for. Yes I realize I've destroyed Middle-Earth, Gollum has unwillingly taken the Ring to it's master and armies from Mordor began their consumption of the world, starting with Gondor and Rohan, as the strength men fail and our fellowship has fallen Frodo and Gandalf remain as the world crumbles beneath them. Gandalf has only begun his flight to Barad-dur and if he will make it or not is uncertain. He knows Middle-Earth shall fall to the darkness but there is one left who still deserves peace, one who still lives in the midst of all destruction who might find some form of escape, thought it may cost him his memory and all that he holds dear, he really doesn't have to know that... does he? After all peace is a small reward for what he has done, what he has risked, even if the quest has failed, he deserves to live!  
  
~~~  
  
The sky was so dark, day and night had become one shadowy haze. Gandalf's dark eyes pierced through the darkness of the land and sky ahead, blending into one bleak landscape of death and despair, the storm had broke and it was for the worst. It would be a storm of such destruction nothing would remain. The ground shook and Gandalf heard its rumbling and moaning as the very foundations of the earth were crumbling. Gandalf fought the despair and pressed onward.  
  
*He could not be left to die. Not in this. Not alone. Not this way. He didn't deserve such an end.*  
  
The storm wrapped around the Eagle and his burden as if they were dark hands holding him down, keeping him from his quest, trying to choke the last hope out of him. Gandalf fought it once more, images of the Balrog and falling falling into dark depths flashed by his mind. The wind groped him, pulling him back, dragging him ever further away from his destination.  
  
*He will wake to find himself alone. All alone in the darkness. In the center of the storm. Where the very ground will give way and the sky will tear above him. Such visions were deserved by no mortals. Such destruction was not his to see. It was not his time. He must come out alive!*  
  
Gandalf looked down and saw armies pouring out of the land as ants out of their sandhill. The eagle and the wizard pressed on. They could not give up. For Frodo's sake. On into the darkness. On into the storm to save what remained of Middle-Earth and deliver him to peace.  
  
~~~  
  
Meanwhile in the calm darkness of Frodo's dreams he stood alone on the brink of eternity. The world crumbled around him and no light penetrated his vision. There was no sky, no earth, nothing to bear him up or drive him down. The pain was slowly subsiding but fear gripped him like a cold vice. The ghosts of the dreams still haunted him, they were so terrible, maddeningly terrible. Frodo felt his head throb from the horrific nightmares. Darkness and despair, death and orcs, poison and cold taking over his body and freezing his limbs so that he could not struggle against the impending doom. His legs caved beneath him and falling, falling down into the darkness as a heavy burden brought him down like a stone tied to his neck. All the while in the torrents of pain, poison, cold, and a forbodding sense of agonizing doom, there was an eye, writhed in flame, staring at him, mocking him. It laughed, hissed, cackled, the dark tongue of Mordor echoed in his ears and pierced him like a thousand knives. The nightmares were terrible but did he truly want to wake, what the dreams seemed to imply how waking would he he settled into the throbbing darkness of despair and anguish awaiting some strong anchor to grab hold and drag him back to reality, if it were truly better than his dreams had been.  
  
His anchor. Sam. Sam was the one who held him to life all that time. Where was Sam?  
  
Frodo's mind reached out in a weak cry, a small whimper escaped his lips, something had gone terribly wrong, and now he lay alone, curled in a pathetic heap, without any hold to reality, sanity, life. Somehow he had lost his anchor and all was bleak and unclear. There was no up, no down, no life, no death. Where he was, that dark place of agony where foul words filled his mind and a terrible eye pierced him like a blade. The world spun around him. There was nothing left for him now. And where was Sam?  
  
He felt he lay there for an eternity, ever losing his loose grip to sanity and life like a small thread of what was left of Frodo Baggins of the Shire. What was left, he did not know, nor did he care much. It was Sam. There was something wrong with Sam. He would always be there, Frodo could feel that comforting hold, that strong anchor, the soothing touch of real life in a dead land on his own dead hand, gripping him in sleep, pressing against his cold brow, fussing always, making sure life still stirred in his cold spiritless body. Frodo felt he had died long ago and Sam's touch, his very prescence, was the only reason to go on. Because, well, that was Sam. Sam was everything Frodo had wanted in a younger brother, Sam *was* his younger brother. Someone to protect and hold onto, someone who would never judge him, never hate him, always see him for the hero he would never be. That was Sam. That innocent, sweet faithfulness that drove Frodo on and on into death. Sam was the Shire. Sam was life.  
  
He knew he would always be a hero to Sam, even though he could never live up to Sam's vision of him entirely, even though he had failed. He expected no one could ever live up to Sam's vision of the flawless Mr. Frodo. An elf lord, a fearless knight, a light in the dark, wise and strong, unwavering and strong of heart and will, this was Mr. Frodo.  
  
Frodo let out another cry. He could never be any of those. He had failed, his heart gave up long ago, his body broken and hollow, all inside was darkness and cold. How could Sam ever seen those things in him? But that was Sam. Sam was the Shire. Sam was life.  
  
Frodo trembled in the darkness, in the cold grip of fear and anguish. Sam was gone, lost from him, somewhere where Frodo could not see him, feel him, hear him, sense him. They were broken apart. Something had driven between them like a merciless blade. A blade! What has broken the brotherly bond that held Frodo so tight to life? A blade. After a moment's thoughtfulness Frodo casts the thoughts aside as last grips of sanity in his mad senseless mind.  
  
For a moment the throbbing in his head stopped, the world stopped spinning, and the voices stopped shouting. There was another voice, not shouting, but weak with darkness and despair. It was small, so small, Frodo almost took it as small cries of the wind. But it came closer now, louder, but still weak and hollow and somehow... ghostly. Frodo shiverred and tried to push it away. But despite his attempts it came again, louder.  
  
"Mr. Frodo! Mr. Frodo!"  
  
Frodo's eyes snapped open only to reveal the darkness still around him. He was still trapped in the dreams. In the nightmare. There was still no earth, no sky, no up, no down. But now there was a voice. So small and weak. So unearthly and sad. Frodo staggered to his feet and looked around... nothing.  
  
"Mr. Frodo!"  
  
Frodo tried calling back only finding his own voice was so much different. It was still weak and small, filled with despair and hoarse from choking sobs, but it was earthly, real and alive. "Sam?"  
  
There was a light skitting about in the distance. A small figure formed as it wavered about left and right, searching desperately, frantically, for something. "Mr. Frodo?"  
  
"Yes! Sam? Sam! Here!" Frodo choked but was still frozen in his spot of darkness.  
  
The light was breaking through now and taking form of some small creature. Like a child running through the feilds at night. But with some unearthly glow. Something the penetrated the darkness but not the cold. It was still cold, very cold. Cold as frost, cold as ice, cold as death.  
  
When the figure finally came into view Frodo gasped. Sam spun around and the two were eye to eye. Sam seemed so small. Much smaller than usual. And Frodo finally saw the lost little brother he had always seen in Sam. He was so small. So lost. And he looked so utterly frightened. Sam ran forward and Frodo let out one last shout.  
  
"Sam!"  
  
The smaller hobbit stopped dead infront of Frodo and the two were frozen for some time. Frodo felt so dark, so shadowy, and yet so real next to this unearthly figure of light, not quite tangible, not quite real. Frodo took a step back as if frightened, then stopped as he saw Sam's face sadden. But there was something so wrong, so terribly wrong about the young hobbit that stood before him. His skin was so pale and with the eerie glow of moonlight. It was almost transparent as if he were just a glass of liquid light. The clothes about him were draped like rags, tattered and old. There was a long tear in his shirt and it was dyed red as blood. Blood! Frodo trembled but could not bring himself to come nearer to Sam. Sam's face was so empty, not full of such life like the beaming rays of a warm spring sun, nourishing and bringing to life all around it. Now the sun had died and a cold shadow remained in the pale moonlit liquid, transparent as a clear, still pond. And those bright eyes, like two dancing stars, were now shallow and cold, frozen over like ponds in winter frost. His once bouncing, bright curls, now limp and listless.  
  
Frodo reached out a trembling hand to touch Sam's face. Sam did not flinch. Frodo touched his cheek gently. It was so cold, like feeling ice on a pond. Frodo's own hand was dark compared to the eerie light of Sam's face. His warm, living flesh against Sam's cold unearthly cheek. Sam put a hand up slowly and caught Frodo's hand. It was like a frozen vice. Frodo wanted to pull away but ignored the first instinct of fear as those cold fading pools of frozen light locked on him. Frodo could feel the cold running up his arm, spreading through him and the urge to pull away was still toying with his mind but he fought it, fearing it would hurt Sam.  
  
Immediately the spell was broken and Sam began to shake. His clear form wracked with sobs as silver tears glittered on his cheeks like stars. He collapsed on the ground and Frodo felt the sudden urge to embrace him. He knelt next to him and put his arms around the cold body hoping beyond hope to spread warmth through him and put warm living flesh on this light soul before him. It was cold, so very cold that Frodo was frozen. He could not move or rock gently, but he held tight, despite the icy pain shooting through him.  
  
"I'm so frightened, Mr. Frodo! And I'm all alone! I'm sorry, I've failed you!" cried Sam, his voice so full of light and despair at once that Frodo felt his heart tear.  
  
"I'm here, Sam, don't be frightened. How have you failed?"  
  
"I'm sorry I failed you! It's all over now, they're all gone. It's all for naught. But I'm so frightened! It's so dark here! Dark and cold and lonely!"  
  
Frodo could barely find words and tried to keep his trembling voice steady. "Oh Sam you've done nothing wrong. Where are we? How did we get here and how do we get out?"  
  
Sam looked up. "Out, sir?" He started shaking his head mechanically. "I'm lost here. I can't get out. I need help. I'm all alone. I can't go alone! I can't go! Oh please, sir!"  
  
"Can't go where, Sam?"  
  
Sam saw it futile to give Frodo an answer without raising more questions. "I'm so frightened. And I'm trapped here. I can't go alone! I need help!"  
  
"I'll help you." Frodo wasn't sure what Sam was talking about but how could he not help him? He would never leave, Sam, not like this.  
  
"Please!" Sam begged. "Please! Don't leave me! Don't leave me all alone here! In the dark! In the cold! Oh please! Don't go! Don't forget! I'm so frightened and I can't get out!"  
  
"Sam. What's happened?" Frodo asked softly his eyes straying to the blood on Sam's shirt and the rip. His hand reached down to the tear but Sam gripped it and pulled it away. "What's happened," Frodo repeated.  
  
Sam's lip quivered. He looked up into Frodo's pleading eyes and turned away. "Please don't leave me. All alone. Please don't go and forget me." His voice was a mere whisper.  
  
"Never. I'll always protect you, little brother." A smile tugged at the corners of Frodo's mouth.  
  
Sam smiled as well but it did not quite reach his eyes. With that, Sam faded, the darkness faded, and Frodo cried out as if he had failed in his promise only moments after he had made it. He could not! He would not! Yet it was all fading. What was happening?  
  
  
  
~  
  
  
  
Okay interesting cliffhanger no? Yes more's a comin'! Please review on this. What do you think happened? Thank you all for the lovely reviews. I'm glad you all understand the evil hand thing. This was actually a very strong chapter. Lots of emotion. I felt myself fall away. Infact when I started this chapter it was 12:00 am and now its 1:30 well I should go I got PSAT's tomorrow O_o ::gasp:: PLEASE REVIEW!! Thank you!!! 


	6. False Hope

The sky opened up like a tear in black fabric above him. Gandalf felt a whorl of angry winds overtake him and the great Eagle could barely fight it. It turned them around, they spun like an old rag in a windstorm and then regained their path. The Eagle never once questioned the wizard, knowing well the meaning of this quest. Find the Ringbearer and bring him to the light. Darker thoughts brewed in Gandalf's mind. He had resolved not to tell Frodo he would forget and try to coax him to go on some other note. If he knew he were to forget, he would never consent to going and the fool would die with all the rest. Another senseless death, no, he could not allow that. Frodo would live whether he liked it or not. How the ring had gotten to Sauron, Gandalf only had a faint inkling. Something had overtaken Frodo and Sam on their quest. Something had taken the ring from them and left them..... somewhere. And Gollum still had his part, yet, to play, perhaps, he played it. Gandalf cursed himself for being such a fool in letting the creature live. He tried to push such senseless accusations from his mind and scanned the ground which seemed to be crawling with orcs. Like the many thousands of ants tramping off to war. The two small hobbits could be easily found there, easily killed, but Frodo was alive, that the wizard knew. They pressed forward, on into the storm, on into the darkness.  
  
~~~  
  
Frodo's eyes tore open to see the sky reeling above him. He let out a low cry but his voice was hoarse and hurt to use so harshly. He squeezed his eyes shut again wishing for the dark steady dreams. Nothing came and he made another try of opening his eyes. The world was a blur, endlessly swirling above him. He could see the smoke billowing in the sky, there was no sun, nor moon, nor stars. He could not tell if it was day or night but the world seemed so dark, as if in some monstrous troll's shadow. His eyes strayed, he could barely make out the tops of cliffs looming over him.  
  
Where was he? This was not Bag-End. No, of course not. Not Bag-End. Mordor. Memories flooded Frodo's mind and he squeezed his eyes shut again and moaned. He could feel exhaustion weigh heavy on his limbs, effects of Shelob's poison. His neck ached and he did as best he could not to move. There was something else different about him. He felt something missing, some piece of him torn away. He groaned again, something was amiss. Along with the piece of him that he thought was falling away, into darkness, burning, or being wielded by some other power that pained him to feel, he felt something else. Something he could not explain, but the pain overwhelmed him again before he could pinpoint it and he jerked his head to the side. This only sent more surging pain rush through him like a burst of blood, flowing forcefully through all his body. Shots of white light pierced his vision, blackness ensued, his eyes clouded and the world continued to reel.  
  
A few cries escaped his lips until he could bare the pain no longer and cried out, "Sam! Sam! The Ring! It's gone! Sam?" The world slowed in it's nauseating spin and Frodo felt his heart sink. Where was Sam?  
  
Pieces of Frodo's dream floated back to him and he shot bolt upright. The sky spun into an endless whirl of blackness. He felt himself sway and whatever contents that resided in his empty stomach threaten to come back up with full force. He turned away and retched, no food came but the flavor was vile and dragged him back to reality gasping and weeping. He could make out nothing around him, even the dark looming cliffs melted into the smoky sky.  
  
He groped around for something to grip onto and stop his swaying body. He trembled and his unsteady hands gripped the ground until he gave up and collapsed in a heap on the ground. He felt blind, nothing but darkness penetrated his vision, and he cried out for Sam once more not caring who heard him. The only answer was the menacing silence.  
  
Frodo lay there for what seemed like an eternity in darkness. All sorts of terrible thoughts raced through his aching head.  
  
*You will take the ring to Sauron, and you will beg for death before the end!*  
  
Frodo cried out putting his hands to his ears and writhing on the ground. It only sent more painful waves surging through his body, weakening him with the remains of the poison, and made his head pound faster. Doom. Doom. Doom.  
  
*Drums. Drums in the dark.*  
  
Doom. Doom. Doom.  
  
Endless shadow and flame swelling before him. Gandalf's voice. Gandalf was dead, he died for him, and now what had come of it? Frodo cried out again. Had he betrayed them? Taken the ring to Sauron, in his weakness, he had written the doom for all of Middle-Earth.  
  
"No! No, it's not true!" Frodo wailed, but his self doubt began to consume him.  
  
He waited for dark dreams, or death, preferably the ladder, but neither were granted to Frodo. His pounding head soon slowed and the thin haze cleared from his eyes. He lay very still, shaken and cold. The world swayed back into focus slowly like a pendulum coming to a stop. Minutes or years could have past, Frodo did not know, he constantly made pathetic attempts to crawl and find some hold on reality, some anchor, but nothing. He rose, slowly and crawled, then fell on his face and wept into the scorched and barren ground. Where was Sam? Frodo could not bear to think. It brought the contents of his stomach back into an uneasy swirl.  
  
"What have I done?" He wept, "What have I done?"  
  
He lifted his head again, trying to focus on something, anything in front of him. All he could see was the bleak landscape swirled with the shadowy sky in a grey mass, like a merciless ocean swallowing everything into its grasp. Frodo tried to focus and saw a form before him, not too far away from where he first woke up. He had staggered in the opposite direction for some time in what seemed like drunken zigzags and apparently gotten him nowhere. He reached out a hand but the distance fooled him and he could not reach the figure.  
  
He coughed on the dust his face was buried in as his hand reached further and he dragged himself toward the figure. His eyes focused as the world took one last spin and settled into focus. It was a person. Back facing him, curled up in a deep sleep. Sam.  
  
"Sam!" Frodo cried with joy. He received no answer as he waited in utter silence. He dragged himself further, blinded with joy and relief upon seeing his dear friend tears coursed down his cheeks. "Oh Sam I thought you had gone! I thought... I thought..." Frodo's cries came in sobs and slowed as a cold hand gripped his heart. "I thought-" he choked, "You were-" Frodo stopped midsentance.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
The form was as still as ever. Frodo gathered up his energy in one last strive to reach the figure but the well was dry and he collapsed on the ground with a cry. "Sam," he muttered sorrowfully, as that long wished for sleep overtook his exhausted limbs. The poison was still in him and he could no longer fight it and struggle in the dark lands at the same time. Frodo's mind began to slip away as last thoughts of his dear friend clung him to waking. He had to reach him. He had to see- just make sure- just know that he was still- Sleep won in the end. 


	7. Doubts, Losses, and Clarity

"Mr. Frodo?"  
  
A small squeak as the door creaked open a crack. Frodo peered over the edge of his book but did not see anyone emerge from behind the door. He set the book down and smiled. "Come in Samwise."  
  
A tiny hobbit-lad appeared staring down at his toes. His sandy curls bobbed hiding his reddened face.  
  
"What is it Sam?" Frodo set aside the book and lifted up the tiny hobbit.  
  
He looked up, his sunny face bright with a broad grin, "I thought I'd bother you."  
  
"Bother me?" Frodo laughed, his voice filling the air like silver chimes. It was a very light and beautiful laughter that assuaged all of Sam's fears. He tickled the young lad's tummy and spun him around. "Cursed be the day, Samwise! You're never a bother to me!"  
  
"Are you busy, sir?" Sam's eyes glanced down at the book left open on the bed.  
  
Frodo set the tiny hobbit on the bed and tossed his curls. He picked up the book and put it back on the shelf among the others. "Not too busy for you, dear Sam."  
  
Sam looked down sorrowfully. "Everyone's too busy for me," he whimpered.  
  
"How so?" Frodo plucked him off of his spot on the bed, holding up the small taunt by the armpits. He sagged a bit, his elbows lifted high and his big, round eyes gazed down at Frodo.  
  
"Well, Hamson an' Halfred said I got in the way this morning when they were helpin' me Gaffer with the chores about the smial. An' Daisy an' May tol' me I was too small to help 'em bake wit' Mama. I'm jus' too small an' a bother for everyone." Tears filled the hobbit-lad's round eyes.  
  
"Oh Sam!" Frodo cried hugging the tiny hobbit close to him. "You're never a bother, and I think you're just the right size. After all when you get big I won't be able to spin you around, or carry you about pig-a-back. You'd have to carry me one day at the rate you're growing."  
  
Sam giggled as Frodo ticked his tummy again. He plopped him down and smiled, "Now what could I do for you?"  
  
Sam bounced happily, grinning. "Could you tell me a story?"  
  
Frodo hopped back on the bed and set Sam on his lap. "But of course. What kind of story would you like to hear?"  
  
"Oh! I would like to hear a story about elves, sir!"  
  
Frodo laughed again, "Elves? Well I suppose you've heard about every story there is to tell about elves."  
  
"Oh please, sir! I don't mind!"  
  
Frodo tried to suppress this next outburst of laughter, "Okay Sam, something about elves."  
  
All the while through the tale Frodo focussed on Sam's bright and shining face. Like a warm sun or innocent flower. His eyes twinkled, bursting with light like two bright stars shining just for Frodo. Frodo grinned, widely, he wanted it to never end. When it was over the small hobbit was snuggled, warm in Frodo's arms drifting off to sleep. Frodo looked down and just saw a mass of sandy curls. He sighed and gave into sleep as well once the tale was told.  
  
His dreamlike state was broken by Sam's voice, quiet and peaceful, "I wish you were my brother."  
  
"Tell you what, Samwise," Frodo shifted and hugged the tiny hobbit closer, "I'll be your big brother if you want, as long as you need one."  
  
"Oh would you, sir? Forever, sir?"  
  
Frodo chuckled, "Yes, Sam, forever. And I'll never leave you, not only for one second."  
  
Frodo felt his mind drift, the image of the tiny hobbit napping in his arms fade away. He floated through dreams of coldness and darkness until his eyes flickered open. His eyelashes fluttered as dark images played before his eyes. He closed them tightly hoping to wake back in Bag-End with the tiny hobbit nestled in his arms. When he opened them again the black sky was filled with smoke and the earth rumbled and moaned as if it were breaking from inside. Frodo stirred.  
  
It was just a dream, a memory, lying in the back of his mind of times long passed. He looked around from where he lay, a bit dizzy but all other effects of the spider's poison were gone. He sat up and got hit with a light dizzy spell, like waking one morning after having a touch too much ale. He saw Sam curled up in front of him, back facing him. He crawled over and reached out a hand to touch Sam's shoulder.  
  
"Sam, I think I fell asleep while on watch. We should get going. We should- "  
  
It was cold. His shoulder was cold as ice and Frodo caught his words in his throat. "Sam?"  
  
He pressed gently on his shoulder and the body turned over. Frodo shrieked and threw himself back. The image of the bright and sunny hobbit smiling on his lap broke, shattered into thousands of pieces. Frodo's eyes burned with tears as they poured like two endless rivers down his face. Looking at him, straight at him, were the once starry eyes of a young hobbit, a dear friend. Now faded and clouded like a clear pond frozen over with the winter frost. His mouth was partly open; just enough to give the image that he was sleeping, just sleeping quietly and peacefully. Frodo never stopped screaming, crying, sobbing. His first shriek was the sound of a tearing heart, a broken soul, the ripped through the heavy darkness of the shadowy land like a knife. Frodo could feel a knife, driving in to his chest, tearing at his heart, like the one that stuck into his dearest, kindest friend.  
  
The ground was creaking and trembling, moaning as it was about to give weigh to the weight it held up. The sky looked like it was unraveling, a black mass of fabric tearing at the seems. The sun fell and the moon shattered, the stars faded and all the world was coming to an end. This was as true in reality as it was in Frodo's heart. He could feel what was happening to all of Middle-Earth. The breaking, the crumbling, the darkness all filling him and leaving him empty at the same time. His mind could still not fathom what his eyes just took in. Some terrible nightmare, some torturous dream, this could not be real. He felt like punching himself, cutting himself, doing something to wake himself. But no physical wound could ever compare to the pain he felt inside.  
  
Doubts raced across his mind faster than he could catch them. Did he? No, never! But the ring? Was gone! And Sam? Was GONE! The cold realization of everything that had come to pass hit Frodo like a strong wave, sucking the life out of him, drowning him in sorrow and despair.  
  
Frodo collapsed, shaking, trembling, cursing and crying. "Oh Sam! It's all my fault! I promised I'd never leave you! I promised and I failed! You tried, you braved everything to keep your promise and I failed! Oh Sam! It was my fault! I killed you!" He shook his head madly sobbing into his hands, screaming up at the heavens as they fell.  
  
*I'm lost here. I can't get out. I need help. I'm all alone.*  
  
Sam's voice seemed to drift on a sad wind. Frodo's head shot up, tears still coursing down his face. "S-Sam?"  
  
*Oh please, sir! I'm so frightened. And I'm trapped here. I can't go alone! I need help!*  
  
Frodo staggered to his feet and looked around madly. "Sam! I'm coming Sam! I'll help you!"  
  
He stopped dead in his tracks. What was he doing? Sam was dead. He lay before him. His sank back down again. "I'm going mad," he whispered, shaking.  
  
"Oh Sam," he cried, pulling his knees up to his chin.  
  
*Please! Don't leave me! Don't leave me all alone here! In the dark! In the cold!*  
  
"I wouldn't! I won't! Where are you!" Frodo screamed, his voice being swallowed by the terrible sounds of destruction around him. After what felt like an eternity, wallowing in darkness and endless pain, never lessening, never ceasing, for Sam was gone.  
  
He looked up and scrambled over the cliffs above him. His fingers cut and bled but he was blind to the pain. When he finally reached the top, his breath coming in gasps, he dropped to his knees and cried in horror. All the world, all of Middle-Earth was covered in darkness. Mordor was growing and eating up all the lands. He could see movement in the distance, great black masses trooping across the land. Orcs. Armies of orcs. The sky cracked with thunder and the ground beneath him rumbled in answer. Wind swirled and screamed in his ears, lightning flashed and cut across the blackened sky. The storm had broken, and would now destroy everything, everyone.  
  
Aragorn. Legolas. Gimli. Pippin. Merry. They were all gone. Gandalf. Sam. All left him behind. He could feel the earth, they were no longer part of it. No. No, wait. One was. One other still remained. He remembered on the seat of Amon Hen. The voice. It saved him, Gandalf. He trembled and his voice rose over the destruction, over the death.  
  
"Gandalf!" It was thrown back into his mouth.  
  
All the rest. They were gone. He felt them leave him. No longer a part of this world, this crumbling, dying world. Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Merry; fell in battle in the Grey Wood. He could see them, the images played in his mind, behind his eyes, all of them fell one by one. Pippin fell in Gondor, one lone hobbit against the first force of Mordor. Tears filled Frodo's eyes. And Sam. Sam right below him, fell at his side. But why? Had he killed himself? Or had-  
  
Frodo fell to his knees again, "I'd never! I didn't! I couldn't! Oh what have I done! What have I done! I would never, Sam, never never! But the doubt! I doubt myself! Did I take the ring to Sauron! Did I sentence you all to death! Oh please answers! Answers and death! I wish for both but do I deserve either? What terrible deed have I done!"  
  
*Oh please! Don't go! Don't forget! I'm so frightened and I can't get out!*  
  
Frodo spun around and looked down at the small body lying at the bottom of the cliff. Expecting something, anything. But the voice hung on the wind. Light and cold, frightened and small. "How!" Frodo screamed, "What must I do?"  
  
He cast his head down, the angry winds throwing his damp curls about. One small figure lost among the death and destruction. Lost and confused filled with doubt and darkness, self-loathing and despair. The terrible ear- splitting, earth-shattering sounds of the world coming to its end, the Dark Lord rising, were mute to him. His mind riddled with fear and doubt and hate for his own self. Memories flashed by and faded, broken and shattered. His old life, his old self, was gone, dead, passed away with all his friends. The Shire! It was gone! His people, that was his quest, to save the Shire! Oh how miserably he failed. Frodo wondered where he would go from there, all alone, allowed to live for unfathomable reasons, perhaps it was the torture he deserved. Living with his own hatred, his own wretchedness. Thoughts of Gollum played through his mind. Lost alone, all he knew and love destroyed because of the ring. His life forsaken. Smeagol was dead. And now Frodo Baggins was dead.  
  
Frodo felt his mind slipping away.  
  
*Please don't leave me. All alone. Please don't go and forget me.*  
  
Frodo blinked as the tears burned his eyes. He looked up at the horizon, blank and dark, no more would the sun rise to the new day. No more. But everything was coming clear to him now. What he must do. What was left for him. He slowly made his way down the cliff and back to Sam's side. 


End file.
